


Ten Lines on Love

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Broken, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Marriage, Married Life, this is why i can't have nice things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24523606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: A canon divergence story, in which Sansa didn't come to her bedroom during the Battle of the Blackwater.Then everything went down.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 53
Kudos: 178





	1. Sandor Clegane looks at her and Sansa sees a tiny flash of emotion she can’t recognise

**Author's Note:**

> You may ask me, hey, what are you doing?  
> And I will answer you, I literally have no idea.
> 
> I think I'm not in a mood for something nice. So here I go.  
> I have two possible outcomes for this story in my head, not sure which of them will become the ending.
> 
> Not putting too many tags this time because why not?

They are told that the battle is over. Sansa hears women crying in relief and thinks that she needs to cry too. To show how grateful she is that her beloved king had won, of course. She doesn’t cry, though.

She wants to return to her bedroom and have some sleep, but one of the guards stops her.  _ Her king  _ wants to see her. Sansa doesn’t see a point why he needs to do it right now. She is so tired, she simply can’t register anything what is going around her. Sansa walks to Joffrey’s quarters and thinks that she had to flee the ballroom when she first thought about it. 

Joffrey looks unimpressed and annoyed. He had just won the battle against his uncle, he has to be in a better mood, Sansa thinks. She doesn’t say anything and makes a curtsy.

“I hope you weren’t too frightened during the battle,” Joffrey smirks, eyeing her from head to toe. Sansa knows she looks awful, her dress wrinkled, her hair wild, her face white from the pain she still feels in her stomach.

“I wasn’t, Your Grace,” she replies politely, her eyes lowered. “I knew you were fighting to protect us, so I wasn’t frightened at all.”

Joffrey huffs. He still wears his armour which is covered with blood and dirt. Sansa knows he didn’t stay at the battlefield until the end, he doesn’t have any right to present himself as a true warrior. As if Joffrey was interested in her opinion.

“That’s good to know, my lady Sansa,” he says in the end. His lips are stretched in a disgusted smirk and Sansa wonders if it was her appearance or words which offended Joffrey. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

“If it pleases you, Your Grace,” Sansa simple answers. She hopes that Joffrey will take his bloodied armour off before their breakfast will be served.

She isn’t allowed to return to her bedroom. She ends up sitting at the table in the same wrinkled dress, but at least Sansa was able to make a clumsy braid. Joffrey eyes it with another disgusted smirk. Sansa knows he hates when her hair isn’t done in a southern style, but in the end, Joffrey doesn’t say a word.

The breakfast is served right in Joffrey’s solar and nobody else joins them for it. Sansa is left with her beloved King on her own, and she feels a drawling fear possessing her veins.

But Joffrey is strangely quiet. The disgusted smirk stays on his face and he eyes Sansa during the whole breakfast, but he is quiet. He doesn’t try to offend her, he doesn’t remind her of her traitorous family. He does nothing, and Sansa thinks it’s even worse. She tried to eat, but her food is stuck in her throat.

The chambermaid comes in and Joffrey gives her a quick nod.

“I’m very please you joined me for breakfast, my lady Sansa,” he says and Sansa makes another curtsy. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she says and Joffrey laughs.

“I hope you will have a nice rest,” he says and his mouth twitches. “After all, the battle is over and your bedroom is neat and doesn’t smell of dog anymore.”

His mouth twitches again and his stare is full of ice, and Sansa has no idea what he is talking about.

  
  


***

  
  


She learns the truth on the following day. They say the battle was so intense that many warriors had deserted their King. They say the Hound was so weak he run away. They say he was found in her, Sansa’s, bedroom. Sleeping in her bed, his body and armour dirtied with blood. They say he was taken away and thrown into a black cell. They say King Joffrey doesn’t want to pardon his loyal guard.

Sansa doesn’t know what of those words is real and what is a mere gossip. She knows the Hound had to run away because of the fire. She doesn’t know why he ended up in her bedroom, though.

The Hound had always hated her, right? He enjoyed mocking her, he enjoyed showing her how stupid she truly is. He saved her from the mob and tried to save her from Joffrey, but still. There is no way he came into her bedroom with a good intention, right? Sansa heard a lot about what a man can do to a woman when his blood is up. She thinks she knows what the Hound was looking for in her bedroom.

She can’t be so sure about it. She falls asleep on a new featherbed and thinks of what else a man they called the Hound could want from her in her bedroom. Her mind is wicked and shows her weird dreams in which he comes to save her from Joffrey and his court. Sansa wakes up and tries to forget those dreams, but it’s difficult to hunt away something she wished for a long time.

She never imagined Sandor Clegane as her saviour, but he could become the best man to take her away. The Hound is strong and every man in Westeros is afraid of him. She had ser Dontos, but if the Hound wasn’t so hateful, she would gladly run away with him.

But he had always hated her, Sansa decides. He came to her room and dropped off on her bed. He was broken after seeing so much fire around him, Sansa thinks. Had the thought of  _ claiming her body _ soothed him to the point he fell asleep right in the middle of the battle? Or was it the wine he had drunk earlier? Or was it something else?

Sansa doesn’t know. Most probably, she will never know. They say there was no mercy for the Hound after he left his King.

***

Joffrey doesn’t want to marry her anymore. He fakes unwillingness to break their betrothal, but Sansa sees he is more than glad about the prospect of marrying someone like Margaery Tyrell. Sansa heard she is a beauty. She feels bad for Margaery Tyrell.

Joffrey honours the heroes of the battle and deals with the hostages. Almost all of them bent their knees and Sansa doesn’t want to look. She doesn’t want to imagine Robb on their place.

But she looks, and when Joffrey announces he will deal with a  _ traitor _ , Sansa holds her breath. She remembers the rumours of what Joffrey could do with the Hound. She remembers the rumours of what they had done to him in the cells. She thinks he had to become a broken man after everything he went through.

Sandor Clegane looks like a broken man. His face is bruised, his clothes are stained with blood, and his eyes are empty. They lack even his usual hate, and Sansa feels an unpleasant shivers running down her spine. She doesn’t want to think of the Hound as the broken man, even though he hates her.

Sandor Clegane looks at her and Sansa sees a tiny flash of emotion she can’t recognise. She is standing too far from the Iron Throne, but she catches his sight for a mere second. She sees that unfamiliar emotion in his eyes and realises it’s not his usual hate. It’s something else.

Sansa doesn’t want to hear Joffrey’s decision. She covers her ears with her tiny palms, but she still hears a roaring laughter of the court at some point. She wonders what it is about, but stay with her hands on her ears.

The guards take Sandor Clegane away and Sansa slowly lowers her hands. She is afraid of what she could hear, even though she doesn’t like the man. The ladies around her whisper and giggle about King Joffrey’s wise decision, and Sansa hopes the Hound will live.

She doesn’t like him, but she doesn’t want him to die. She has no idea why. Maybe because of those dreams she sees every night after the learnt he was looking for her in her bedroom.

***

Her dreams are so stupid, anyway. People in the Red Keep talk a lot, and Sansa learns everything quicker than she expected. King Joffrey wanted to take Sandor Clegane’s head, but his grandfather advised him against it. Lord Tywin said it wasn’t wise, and Joffrey had to agree with him.

He spared the Hound’s life, but stripped him off his white cloak. Joffrey said he doesn’t want to see  _ stupid traitors _ in his army. He decided it was the time for the Hound to learn his place.

He made Sandor Clegane the  _ kennelmaster’s apprentice _ . Back to where he belonged by his rotten blood, Joffrey said and the whole court was laughing at his joke. Except for Sansa, who had covered her ears, of course.

She feels a surge of relief when she realises the Hound will live. She knows he will never be able to save her from Joffrey’s wrath or any other man’s ill intentions. He wasn’t a member of the Kingsguard anymore, nor he was a simple soldier. But she is glad he will live anyway.

The Hound stays in the Red Keep, and Sansa stays at the court. She isn’t Joffrey’s betrothed anymore, but he doesn’t show any desire to send her away. There’s no place he could send her to, anyway. He would never allow her to reunite with her family, so Sansa stays in the Red Keep and awaits the arrival of the future Queen.

She wishes ser Dontos could help her run away earlier than that, but it’s impossible. She needs to wait, and Sansa was always a dutiful young lady. She waits.

***

Sansa can see that Joffrey is bored when he summons her and announces he had finally found out what to do with her.

“I wish you to marry someone with whom you share more common traits that you had with me,” he says and his eyes are full of the evil mischief.

Sansa bows her head and swallows unwanted tears. She needs to be strong. She doesn’t want to marry anyone, but Joffrey doesn’t care about her wishes. No one in this place cares about her wishes.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she says and her blood boils.

“I knew you will obey me,” Joffrey cackles in satisfaction. “My mother says I’m wasting you for nothing, but I don’t care. You will marry the man of my choice, right, my lady Sansa?”

She nods and doesn’t raise her eyes.

“Good,” Joffrey says and his voice is as sharp as the finest steel. Sharper than her father’s Ice. “There are not too many options for you, anyway. But someone as traitorous as the stupid dog will do.”

  
_Oh no_ , Sansa thinks before the world around her turns black. Being married to a man who hates her. What a generous gift from the wise King.

***

There is no big wedding ceremony for her and Sandor Clegane. He is just a man who works in the kennels, and she is just a traitor’s daughter. Joffrey walks her down the aisle and smirks.

“I hope you will enjoy your wedding,” he whispers on Sansa’s ear before removing her cloak. He steps away and Sansa is left next to the Hound on her own. She doesn’t count the Septon.

She looks at Sandor Clegane and trembles. He doesn’t look happy about the prospect of becoming her husband, and Sansa shares his thoughts completely. The bruises on his face and hands are still fresh and when he takes off his cloak she notices he flinches in pain. Sansa has no idea what had happened to him when he was in the cell.

He wraps his cloak around her shoulders and says the words. He lowers his head and kisses her when it’s required. Sansa hears Joffrey’s giggle and doesn’t feel the Hound’s kiss at all. Maybe he didn’t kiss her at all, Sansa has no idea.

She has no idea of what is going on with her life. She wants to hope something good will happen to her, but there’s no strength left in her.

***

Unlike the wedding ceremony, the feast to celebrate her marriage is a huge affair. She is seated next to Sandor Clegane in front of the people who are too busy with their food and drinks to pay any attention to her misery. Even the present members of the Royal family pretend it’s just another merry feast to celebrate something which isn’t a wedding of Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane.

Her  _ husband  _ drinks a lot. He ignores her completely, and Sansa doesn’t try to drag his attention. It is Joffrey who dances with her, and Sansa wants to howl like a proper wolf she is.

Or  _ was _ . She is a dog now, right? Or someone in between. To be honest, she doesn’t know the truth.

“Is the feast to your liking, my lady  _ Clegane _ ?” Joffrey whispers on her ear and drags her closer.

“Yes, Your Grace,” her voice is so quiet Sansa doesn’t know if she really said it.

“I see,” Joffrey laughs. His eyes are shining as if he is truly happy. “Then, I hope you will enjoy your wedding night too, lady Sansa.”

She gulps and lowers her eyes. Joffrey’s grip is too strong, she can’t run away.

“I hope so too, Your Grace,” she answers politely. She heard that a drunk man can’t handle his husbandly duties. She hopes that the Hound had drunk enough to leave her alone for their wedding night.

“I’m sure you will,” Joffrey says and grabs her chin, looking Sansa straight into eyes. “Because I will make someone check it in the morning, you know? And I’m sure you had already learnt that it isn’t nice to disappoint your King.”

He releases his grip so fast Sansa almost falls. She wants to run away and hide somewhere behind the closed door, but Joffrey smirks and calls for the bedding. Her husband is too drunk to say anything, and Sansa is carried away by the men she never wanted to have around her.

They rip her dress and touch her body. They make crude jokes and suggestions. They are drunk, but at least they aren’t as cruel as Sansa expected them to be. Maybe because the members of the Kingsguard weren’t present at the bedding.

They bring her to her old bedroom and leave her alone. Sansa swallows a lump in her throat and sits on the edge of the bed. Sandor Clegane isn’t here yet, she still has some time. She lies down and closes her eyes. She doesn’t cry, even if she should.

She hopes he won’t hurt her.

***

When she opens her eyes, it’s already dark outside. She sits on the bed and realises that her husband is already in her bedroom. It isn’t  _ their  _ bedroom, Joffrey promised they will have to move to the Hound’s new place after their wedding night. Sansa blinks and looks at her husband.

He fell asleep on the top of the furs, he didn’t even undress. The only thing he took off are his boots, and Sansa tries not to look at his huge legs. She looks at his hands and body and notices even more fresh bruises.

He sleeps on his stomach and his face is buried into her pillow. The one she usually sleeps on. Sansa looks at him and wonders if he was lying on her bed the same way on the night when the Blackwater burnt.

Sandor Clegane is clinging to her pillow with his huge hands as if it is his only lifeline, and Sansa feels tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. She has no idea why she even has those tears.

She lies down again and closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to think about Sandor Clegane now.

She sees him in her dreams again, though.


	2. She could mistake this wetness for his tears, but there's no way Sandor Clegane can cry, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some not so happy dubcon here.

Sansa wakes up with a loud slam of a door. She almost jumps on her place and hears her  _ husband’s _ low growl of disapproval. She blinks and looks around, and feels a lump appearing in her throat.

Joffrey is in her bedroom, with his most trusted guards and several handmaidens. Sansa’s eyes are still sleepy, but she catches the visible disgust on his face.

“See to your duties, dog,” he spits and turns to face her. “Me and lady Sansa will talk.”

The Hound swears under his breath and clumsily climbs out of her bed. As soon as he is on his feet, he swears again, louder this time, and grabs his aching head with his huge palms. The guards snorts and Joffrey’s mouth twitches in a nasty smirk.

As soon as her husband leaves the bedroom, the silent handmaidens start to run around, gathering Sansa’s things and placing them into straw baskets and little wooden chests. They don’t pay any attention to Sansa, just like the guards, who step back and pretend they are blind and deaf.

“My dear lady Sansa,” Joffrey says, making a step closer to her bed. Sansa is wearing her plain wedding dress, but she feels naked under his stare. She tries to cover herself with some furs and this action earns her another smirk from Joffrey.

“Yes, Your Grace?” she says and her voice trembles. A little bit.

“You’ve disappointed me, my dear lady Sansa,” Joffrey says with a fake sigh. “I was so eager to greet  _ lady Clegane _ this morning, and what did I see here? A drunk dog sleeping on a bed and a fully dressed maiden.”

“But I’m lady Clegane now,” Sansa tries to object, but her words come out so weak.

“Not in truth,” Joffrey hisses and Sansa could swear she sees a sheer hatred flashing in his eyes. “I will send a septa to check on you tomorrow. Make sure both you and a dumb dog which is your husband now will follow my order properly, lady Sansa.”

She gulps and nods, trying to take her eyes off of Joffrey. She fails, it feels as if Joffrey hypnotised her with his hatred.

“I won’t even punish you for disobedience,” he adds, crossing his arms on his chest. “Can’t promise anything regarding your husband, though.”

It’s not fair. Sansa doesn’t really like the Hound, and most probably he feels the same, but it’s so unfair to punish him for not taking her maidenhead straight away. At least he gave her one more day of feeling untouched and undesecrate. She is grateful for it, even though it happened only because her husband had drunk too much wine.

She wishes she could tell Joffrey about it, but Sansa knows he simply won’t listen. He will do anything he wants, and there is no other option to avoid his wrath, apart from losing her maidenhead. She is a married woman, after all.

“Don’t disappoint me like this anymore, lady Sansa. You know what happens to the real traitors in this Keep, don’t you?” Joffrey almost spits these words through his teeth and leaves. 

His guards walk away, leaving Sansa with the silent handmaidens. They are still busy with their work, and when Sansa finally climbs out of her bed and asks them for help with her dress and hair, one of them stops and shrugs.

“Can’t do so,” she says. “King’s order.”

She gets back to packing, and Sansa realises she didn’t call her ‘my lady’, as it was required. She isn’t surprised hearing it was another wicked idea of their King. Joffrey married her to the kennelmaster’s apprentice, of course, she isn’t a lady in the eyes of the people of Red Keep anymore.

She wants to object his decision, she wants to cry, she wants to explain the handmaidens that she still is a lady by birth. Instead, she quietly walks to the screen and quickly washes herself. She finds the simplest dress she could quickly put on without any help and braids her hair.

When she is ready, one of the handmaidens gives her a basket and nods in the direction of the chest of drawers.

“Help yourself with your clothes,” she says and turns around.

Sansa wants to cry, but there’s no point of doing so. No one would pay attention to the tears of a servant’s wife, right?

  
  


***

  
  


Her new room is tiny and dark. There’s only one small window and Sansa thinks she will miss the sunlight. There is a huge bed, a simple chest of drawers, a wooden wardrobe, an empty shelf, and a chair. Sansa has no idea if she will ever be able to fall in love with her new room.

No, that’s not right. This is not  _ her _ room. This is hers and Sandor Clegane’s room. Her  _ husband’s _ . Sansa has no idea if she will ever be able to embrace this fact.

She has nothing really to do, so she tries to organise her clothes. The chest of drawers isn’t as big as she had in her previous bedroom, and the wardrobe is smaller than it looks. Sansa has no idea how they will manage to keep the clothes for two people here. Perhaps she will have to go through her dresses and throw away the ones which she grew out of. But not today. She doesn’t want to lose something which connects her to her past just like this.

She cleans the room and puts all her things away. She tries to make the gloomy room to look a little cosier, but fails. She spent  _ hours  _ on trying to make it like a decent bedroom, but it looks like a misery. The pillows she brought looks out of the place on the huge bed, and Sansa thinks her husband will hate them. The same way he will hate her embroidery she put on the display. The same way he will hate her beautiful dresses which filled the whole wardrobe. The same way he will hate her presence in this bedroom.

Sansa blinks away her tears and leaves  _ their _ bedroom. She goes to the kitchen and hopes she will have a chance to share her dinner with the other servants. She is wrong, though. Some young handmaidens decided to use their break to share the latest news and gossip about everything and everyone, but as soon as Sansa walks in they throw a haughty look at her and turn their heads away.

Sansa has to sit on her own, quite far away from those girls. Even from her seat, she hears they’re discussing her and her marriage. Sansa tries to ignore them, but she eats her dinner and listens to their loud whisper about her being so lousy even the Hound preferred to pass out after having too much wine instead of f…  _ fucking _ her. 

Sansa is sure the chicken soup she got is saltier than usual, but she doesn’t cry.

  
  


***

  
  


She picks one of the simplest nightgowns she has. She washes herself and climbs on her bed, hiding under the furs.

No, she unwillingly corrects herself. It’s  _ their _ bed. She hasn’t seen her husband since the early morning, but she prepares herself for him. Sansa has no idea how he likes his women, so she decides that a gown will do. It’s plain and lacks any embroidery, she won’t be sad if the Hound decides to rip it.

She just hopes he will be gentle with her.

Her husband appears in their room when Sansa almost falls asleep. She sits on their bed and watches him. She left a single candle on the chest of drawers, and she spots that he is drunk straight away.

“My lord,” she says to greet him. She is his wife, after all. She needs to remember her courtesies.

Sandor Clegane freezes on his place and looks at her with the wide eyes, as if he had completely forgotten a young wife is waiting for him in his bed. He stares at her and says nothing, and Sansa returns his stare.

The left side of his face looks surreal in a candlelight, but Sansa keeps staring at her husband. She sees that his breath had quickened and his mouth started to twitch, but he says nothing. She shifts under the furs and decided to put them away in the end. She is wearing her gown, there is no way the Hound will be able to see through it, right?

Even if he would, there’s no reason for her to hide from him. He is her husband and he has to claim her maidenhead tonight. That’s what their King wants. Sansa sits straight and lifts her chin, her auburn hair cascades over her shoulders and breasts. She sees Sandor Clegane gulps, and he finally breaks their eye contact.

“Go to sleep,” he slurs and it’s clearer now that he  _ is _ drunk. His hands shake and he quickly turns away. Sansa thinks he tries to pretend he isn’t interested in her, but she knows better. He came to her bedroom in the middle of the battle. He  _ has _ to be interested in her.

At least he is interested in  _ sleeping _ with her. Sansa doesn’t want to use the word she heard from the handmaidens.

“We need to do our duty, my lord,” she says in a small voice. It sounds so unfamiliar and reminds Sansa of the bird chirping. The Hound used to call her a bird, a little bird, a stupid bird. He mocked her, but Sansa can’t deny she didn’t hate it.

“Lord,” the Hound spits at her words. “Never was a lord, never will become one. I’m a kennelmaster now, have you forgotten, girl?”

He is a kennelmaster’s  _ apprentice _ , but there is no way Sansa would remind him of it.

“I know, my lord,” she repeats and Sandor Clegane laughs. In the dim light of their bedroom, his scowl looks so horrible Sansa almost flinches. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself to stay strong and don’t show him any wrong emotion.

The Hound is drunk, and Gods know what a drunken husband can do to his wife. 

“Don’t call me your lord,” he hisses through the clenched teeth. The candlelight outlines the oozing scars on his face and a long cut near his neck. Sansa didn’t notice it earlier. She wonders if it is a part of Joffrey’s promised punishment.

Sansa nods and lowers her head, looking at her hands. They tremble, just like her husband’s ones. She has no idea why her body is shaking, is it fear or disgust or something else.

Sandor Clegane’s hands had to tremble because he is drunk. There is no reason for him to be afraid of anything while being in the same bedroom with her.

Sansa thinks about how she should address her husband. She doesn’t want to use his monicker, nor she wants to address him by his name. And calling him Clegane sounds too wrong. After all, she also is  _ Clegane _ now. She decides to stay silent.

“And let me remind you, girl,” the Hound moves closer to the bed and Sansa can feel a nasty smell of the wine. “You aren’t a  _ lady  _ anymore, too. After all, the kennelmasters can’t marry noble ladies, so don’t try to act like the one outside of this bedroom. Understood?”

Sansa swallows a lump in her throat and nods. She isn’t sure why the Hound is telling her these things. His voice trembles by the end of his speech, as if there is something else behind his mocking words. Something which makes him feel afraid for her.

It has to be her imagination, Sansa decides. She tilts her head and looks at her husband, who is busy with trying to kick off his boots. Sansa’s pulse quickens and she feels a cold fear running through her veins. She closes her eyes and decides she is ready for anything that could follow.

She feels the featherbed sink, but nothing happens. Sansa opens her eyes and sighs. Sandor Clegane blew out a candle and it takes her couple of seconds to adjust her eyes for the darkness. She sees her husband lying on his side of the bed, his broad back facing her.

It seems he doesn’t want to touch her, nor he wants to claim her maidenhead. Sansa feels a surge of relief washing over her, but it’s replaced by a sheer fear straight away. She reaches out her hand and carefully puts in on Sandor Clegane’s shoulder.

“What?” he snaps, almost jumping on his place and turning to face her.

“What about our… duty?” she whispers and feels so awkward.

“Go to sleep,” he grunts and wants to turn away again, but Sansa strengthens her grip on his shoulder.

“We must do it,” she says, carefully avoiding her usual address to him.

“Don’t tell me you want to get fucked by an ugly dog,” he snorts. His voice sounds more normal than before, as if he was slurring because of nervousness, not the amount of wine he drank.

Sansa screws up her face at the way he refers to their marital duty, but it doesn’t matter. He can’t see her face anyway. Besides, they have to do it because of the  _ King’s order _ , not on their own will. It isn’t lovemaking she heard about in the songs. It isn’t a regular marital duty which happens to people in a marriage. It’s something else. Something which was made up to humiliate her, to punish her.

Maybe to punish the Hound as well.

“Joffrey said he will send a septa in the morning to check on me,” Sansa says and her voice starts shaking. She remembers his words about the traitor’s destiny, but decides not to share it with her husband. After all, Joffrey was referring to her, right? He had already punished Sandor Clegane for deserting the battlefield by putting him in the black cells. There’s no way he wants to punish him again.

Sansa shivers. It’s  _ Joffrey  _ she is talking about. She has no idea what’s going on in his mind.

Her husband doesn’t say a word. Sansa knows he is staring at her, it has to make her feel uncomfortable, but there’s no such emotion in her mind now. Her hand is still on his shoulder and she is aware of how tense he became after her words.

Sansa thinks she can even feel his fear. Again.

She has no idea what is happening in Sandor Clegane’s head. Not as if she wants to learn about his thoughts anyway.

“Alright,” he says in the end, and the cold fear slowly creeps away. Of course, Sansa is still terrified of losing her maidenhead to a man like the Hound, but it’s just a nervousness. Not a fear.

She tries to get out of the bed and lit a candle again, but her husbands stops her. Now it’s his turn to grasp her arm and pull her a little bit closer.

“Don’t,” he says and Sansa hears a strange insecurity in his voice. She thinks it’s because of his face, and she can’t disagree that lying with him in a darkness will make things better. He is her husband, but she would prefer not to see his face right now. Just in case.

It isn’t because of his scars, not at all. She simply doesn’t want to face his annoyance. Or his hatred. She has no idea what emotions Sandor Clegane can have in his stare while taking her maidenhead.

Maybe it will help him reduce his hatred towards her a little bit.

Sansa wants to ask him what she should do next, but the Hound releases his grip.

“Get on your knees, girl,” he says and Sansa flinches.

She has no idea what she was expecting from him, but certainly not this. Maybe it’s just their duty, but she doesn’t want to be taken like a bitch. She remembers lewd jokes she heard during her bedding and feels a lump in her throat once again.

She obeys her husband, though.

This is so embarrassing. She stands on her knees and elbows and hides her face in one of the cute pillows she embroidered herself. She still has her gown on, but there are no smallclothes underneath. She hears the Hound moving around and then the thin fabric of her nightgown is raised a little, baring her arse and her woman’s place. Sansa squeezes her eyes, her face is on fire. At least there’s no candlelight in their bedroom, her husband was right after all.

It doesn’t make things better, not at all.

Sansa latches on to the pillow and prepares for pain. Instead, she feels the Hound’s rough fingers on her arse cheek. He moves his fingers around, strangely caressing her, but he doesn’t touch her woman’s place. His movements are clumsy and Sansa can feel his fingers trembling. She hears his ragged breath and an unfamiliar wet sound, and wants it to be over.

Sandor Clegane doesn’t say a word. He moves his hand to her thigh, and at some point, his long fingers rub over her lower lips and Sansa makes a strange sound. She has no idea what she feels, if she likes it or not. It’s not the worst feeling, not at all, but Sansa has no idea what is going on. Shouldn’t he just put his manhood inside and claim her as his wife? She doesn’t see a point of those caresses.

Caresses are for lovers. She isn’t sure if  _ this  _ type of caresses is something people do in their marriage bed. She has no idea what should people do when they are married for love. Her septa never spoke to her about it, except for mentioning that, as a lady, she should obey her husband. Sansa isn’t a lady anymore, at least that’s what people around her keep saying, but she does have a husband.

She decided to let him do whatever he wants.

She doesn’t say a word.

When Sandor Clegane’s fingers disappear and Sansa feels a wet huge thing next to her entrance, she tenses.

“Don’t be like this, little bird, relax,” her husband suddenly whispers in a shaking voice. Sansa feels his breath on her ear, he moved down to be closer to her. There is something else between his lies, something that reminds her of a despair. He pushes the tip of his manhood further and Sansa tries to suppress her cry.

It has to be done. She needs to go through it. She is strong. She is a wolf. She is ready. She doesn’t cry.

  
The Hound’s manhood is  _ huge _ . It’s also hot and wet, and thanks to the Seven he doesn’t put it in until the end. Sansa nuzzles into her pillow and blinks away her tears. Her husband moves so slowly it feels like a torture. He probably saved her some pain not thrusting inside in a single quick stroke, but still, Sansa doesn’t like it at all.

At some point, he stops and Sansa feels a hot wetness on her shoulder, which clearly is Sandor Clegane’s sweat. It  _ has  _ to be his sweat, after all, she heard the ladies of the court talking about their affairs with men. She knows that men always sweat during the act, so it isn’t something unexpected.

She could mistake this wetness for his tears, but there’s no way Sandor Clegane can cry, right?

He starts to move again, and Sansa realises she doesn’t feel the pain anymore. As if the time he was still helped her to adjust to his manhood inside her woman’s place. She thinks if he did it on purpose, but she can’t be so sure about it. Sandor Clegane doesn’t like her, it is known. Sansa doesn’t open her eyes and tries not to think about his movements behind her.

She wants to cover her ears, so the wet sounds would disappear, but she tightens her grip on her pillow instead. She hears her husband cursing under his breath, and suddenly he stills. Sansa feels him spilling his seed and suddenly she realises there’s no way back.

Joffrey will be over the moon when he learns about it.

Sandor Clegane takes his manhood out of her entrance and gets out of their bed. Sansa thinks of the words she should say to him. She needs to thank him and offer him to wash himself and go to sleep.

She finally comes up with some words, but then she hears him cursing again. It is followed by the sound of his bare feet on the wooden floor, and in the next second, there is a loud slam of the door.

Her husband is gone, and he left her in their bed, half-naked and with his seed dripping out of her woman’s place.

Sansa slowly crawls out of the bed. She washes herself behind a tiny screen in the corner and comes back. She hides under the soft furs and realises they smell like the Hound.

Then she finally cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know it's not a happy thing, but please don't consider it as a rape, none of them was happy to do so, but well)  
> (I'm sorry if it left a wrong impression)


	3. She doesn’t try to focus on the fact that the words Sandor Clegane mumbled some moments ago sounded like an apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things shouldn't have happened.

It is an unfamiliar septa who wakes Sansa in the morning. She didn’t bar the door last night, in case her husband would eventually come back. But he never did, and now Sansa if left with this septa all alone.

The older woman is here to access the lack of her maidenhead, she says this is the King’s order. Sansa obeys her commands, and the whole thing is way more humiliating than anything else she experienced in her short life. Even being on her knees with her woman’s place exposed in front of her husband didn’t feel as wrong as this.

She hates every second of septa’s inspecting, and when the woman announces it is done, Sansa heaves a sigh of relief.

“Our King will be pleased you followed his command,” the septa says before leaving. Sansa wishes their King could have more important business than taking care of Sansa Stark’s maidenhead. No,  _ Sansa Clegane’s _ .

She isn’t a wolf anymore.

Sansa gets out of her bed and slowly goes in the direction of the washing basin. She feels a raw and unpleasant pain between her legs and flinches. She has no clue what could happen now. She was married to Sandor Clegane in truth. Would he want to take her every night from now? Would he claim his husbandly rights even oftener? Sansa doesn’t like the whole idea, but she needs to obey her husband.

And her  _ King _ .

She washes herself and returns to bed. There is a tiny bloodstain on the soft sheets, and Sansa gulps down a lump in her throat. She climbs under the furs and closes her eyes. There are rays of sun coming through the shabby window shutters, but she doesn’t want to go outside. She has nothing to do outside her tiny room. She isn’t a lady anymore, so no one will ask for her at the court. She isn’t a washerwoman or a handmaiden, so she doesn’t need to hurry up and see to her duties. Sansa sighed and decided to stay in bed as long as she could.

If the King decides to humiliate her even more, he would send someone to fetch her. And if her husband comes back and demands his husbandly right, she will be in the bed already. Staying in the room is a wise plan, Sansa decides and lets out a tiny sigh. She wants none of these two options to happen.

She falls asleep in the end. When she wakes up, she is still on her own. She puts on another plain dress she has in her wardrobe and goes to the kitchen. She tries to act as if nothing happened last night, but somehow Sansa thinks everyone now knows she was  _ fucked  _ by the Hound. The chambermaids look at her with nasty grins, the cooks avert their eyes. Sansa doesn’t feel having her lunch there, so she grabs her food and goes back to her new place.

Good thing she doesn’t meet anyone from the Kingsguard on her way. She doesn’t want to think about what could happen if any of them noticed her. She isn’t a young lady from noble House anymore in their eyes, Gods know what those men could do to her.

When she comes back, she notices that there is a new huge trunk and a pile of clothes near the chest of drawers. Judging by the sigil on a wooden lid, all of the new things belong to Sandor Clegane. Sansa wonders if he was here, or if his things were brought by someone else. She sits on the huge bed and slowly eats her lunch.

She puts an empty plate and a water jug on the chest of drawers and looks at the trunk. She wants to deal with her husband’s things, but she has no idea how he would react if she touched his things. Most probably, he would go mad. He always goes mad when he is disappointed in her. Or scowls at her. Or mocks her. He doesn’t always act like this around her, Sansa thinks with a frown, he was gentle to her on some occasions. 

She thinks of him touching her lip with a handkerchief and giving her his cloak. She thinks of some of his stares when she was humiliated at the court. She thinks of him saving her from the mob. She thinks of him awkwardly caressing her last night, instead of simply sticking his manhood in.

Maybe he doesn’t like her as much as she thought, after all. But still, Sansa knows he would be angry if she touched his things. She decides to leave his trunk in the corner of their room, so her husband could deal with his belongings when he is back.

  
  


***

  
  


But Sandor Clegane doesn’t come back. Sansa falls asleep on top of the furs, and when she wakes up it is already the next morning. She sits on their bed and looks around, but nothing in the room indicates her husband was here. Even his things are left the same way Sansa put them last evening.

She is hungry. She ate only a lunch yesterday, so Sansa quickly gets herself ready and goes to the kitchen. There’s no gossiping women in the morning, so Sansa eats her breakfast in peace. She thanks the cooks and goes back to her room. She doesn’t feel the pain between her legs anymore, and Sansa decides it’s a good sign.

She makes her bed and checks her dresses. Some of them are already too small to be worn, but Sansa decides it could be a mistake to throw them away. She isn’t a lady of the court anymore, which means the seamstresses won’t line up to make her a new pretty dress. She could amend them herself, and Sansa leaves her dresses for later.

She has nothing else to do, apart from dealing with Sandor Clegane’s things. But it isn’t a wise idea, and Sansa decides to go out. She needs to find herself something to spend her free time on, which means she needs to look for a job. Her husband is a servant, which means she is a servant now too. Maybe she was raised like a noble lady, who lives depending on her future lord husband, but she has nothing to do with that lifestyle anymore.

Sansa doesn’t want to think of how her mother would react to a sudden change in her beloved daughter’s life.

  
  


***

  
  


Apparently, Joffrey isn’t done with her. He isn’t even in the Red Keep, Sansa learns from the bored soldiers on her way to the Godswood. He left for a hunt in the morning and nobody expects him to return for several days. He isn’t in the Red Keep, but even then he humiliates Sansa even more.

She went to the washerwomen and asked them if she could work with them. The young women giggled at her, and the older one spat that they aren’t looking for any help. Sansa left and went to the seamstresses. She is good with a needle, after all, she could become a great addition to the Red Keep’s seamstresses.

They turned her offer down as well. The same happened with the chambermaids. And in the kitchen too.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” the old cook said, throwing a sad glance at Sansa. “But we can’t allow you working here. The King’s order.”

Sansa enters the Godswood and rushes to her favourite place near the heart tree. There are angry tears in the corners of her eyes, but she wipes them away with the back of her hand. She gets on her knees and closes her eyes.

She wants to pray to the Old and New Gods to help her, but nobody could change Joffrey’s mind. Sansa is sure of that. She isn’t welcomed at the court anymore, nor she can’t get herself a job, as is right and proper for her new stature. She is useless. She isn’t good for anything. Apart from offering her body to her husband, of course. And that is exactly what Joffrey was looking forward to when he announced the match between her and Sandor Clegane.

To see her humiliated and useless. To see her becoming the  _ Hounds’ bitch _ , as she was called behind her back now. To see her breaking from inside. And judging by how much he wanted her to lose her maidenhead, from the outside too.

The tears are back and Sansa allows herself to sob a little bit. She doesn’t want to think that Joffrey had won.

  
  


***

  
  


She is useless in being Sandor Clegane’s wife too. The days pass, but her husband doesn’t come to their room. Sansa spends almost all her time there, going out only to eat in the kitchen and pray in the Godswood, and she never faces him there. She has no idea where he spends his nights, but hopes he isn’t visiting the houses of ill repute.

She used to think that Sandor Clegane was interested in her as a  _ woman _ , but it looks like she was wrong. Once again. He took her maidenhead as was requested by Joffrey, but he doesn’t want to claim her as his wife again. Sansa thinks she should be relieved at this thought. Instead, she feels a huge hollow inside her heart.

It isn’t because she wants to lie with him, not at all. She simply realises she is a failure, a woman whose husband seeks his pleasure somewhere else. He doesn’t even want to share their bed with her, and Sansa doesn’t like this knowledge. She was always told that she needs to be a good wife to a man who will become her husband, and she wants to be the one. Even if her husband is the infamous Hound.

Every night she wants to go outside their chamber and look for him, ask him to come back. Instead she hides under the warm furs and fights her tears. She keeps to leave the wooden door of their room unbarred. She knows it isn’t a wise thing to do, anyone could come in and do whatever they wish. But she doesn’t want her husband to be left outside in case he decides to return. Even if she doesn’t have any tender feelings for him.

But he doesn’t come back.

  
  


***

  
  


She hears young women laughing at her. Sansa hears crude jokes about herself almost every lunch, so she tries to ignore them.

“I bet her cunt is colder than the Wall, she’s from the North, after all,” one of them cackles, not trying to hide her direct stare at Sansa. “Suppose that’s why the Hound is sleeping in the kennel instead of coming back to his room.”

“Think his cock froze to death and fell off?” her friend says in a serious voice, and all of the chambermaids start to giggle, throwing funny looks at Sansa.

They’re shushed by the cook, but Sansa loses her appetite anyway. She leaves her plate on the table and leaves. She doesn’t even hear a new round of giggles in her direction.

Sansa knows she should go to the Godswood and hide there. Instead, she finds herself walking to the kennel.

Maybe it isn’t wise, but she wants to speak to her husband right now. She doesn’t want to be a laughing stock for those women anymore, nor does she want them to make crude jokes about Sandor Clegane. 

She isn’t sure why she wants to secure him against those stupid gossips.

Sansa finds her husband carrying two full buckets of fresh water. He looks tired, and Sansa wonders if he really spent past nights right in the kennels. There’s no proper place to sleep, he had to lie on the ground somewhere inside.

She comes closer and clears her throat. She doesn’t know how to address him without calling him a lord, so she says nothing. But it is enough to drag Sandor Clegane’s attention. He almost drops the buckets and Sansa notices there is a sheer surprise in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asks instead of a greeting.

“I was looking for you,” Sansa says. She is nervous and her voice becomes hoarse.

“Missing my ugly mug, aren’t you?” he laughs and tightens the grip on the bails.

He is trying to mock her once again.

“Why aren’t you coming to our room?” she asks instead of feeling offended. “You look tired.”

It sounds so improper to say something like this without a formal address. It sounds almost as if she tries to scold her younger brother. But Sandor Clegane doesn’t look to mind it. At least, he says nothing about her words. Instead, he frowns and looks at her.

Sansa doesn’t like the uncomfortable silence, which is interrupted by the loud barking on the background. She looks her husband straight into eyes and tries not to run away. She wants him to speak.

“Thought I won’t be happy to see my face after I raped you,” he spits in the end and turns around. He wants to leave, but Sansa is faster. She moves forward and latches onto the sleeve of his tunic.

“Wait,” she says. Now she sounds like her mother when she was giving another scolding to Bran for climbing the high walls. “You didn’t rape me. It was the King’s order, right?”

Sandor Clegane stops and throws his head back, laughing.

“Are you a stupid bird or what?” he turns on his heels and Sansa sees that an unusual surprise in his stare changed into a more common anger. “Don’t tell me you were happy to follow that  _ King’s order _ ? And don’t lie to me, silly bird, I know you weren’t.”

He is right, Sansa thinks and takes a deep breath.

“I wasn’t,” she affirms. “But it had to be done, right? But it doesn’t mean you need to spend your nights outside of our bedroom.”

“You want me to come back?” he snorts.

“I do,” Sansa nods.

“Why?”

He doesn’t sound angry anymore, just simply tired. Sansa doesn’t want to tell him about the gossiping women, but she needs to explain her sudden wish to see her husband in their chamber. She could lie she misses him, but the Hound would spot it straight away.

“People talk about us…” she starts, but then she is cut off by another loud laugh.

“Is little bird still anxious about what people talk behind her back?” Sandor Clegane snorts. “You aren’t at the court anymore,  _ my lady _ . You need to get used to the fact that people  _ will  _ talk behind your back. And those won’t be nice things.”

“They talk about you as well,” Sansa says, but it doesn’t make her husband lose his mocking mood.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about  _ people _ ,” he snarls. “They’re talking about me since I was burnt. I don’t care about them.”

It’s strange, but Sansa feels an aching pain in her chest because of his words. She thinks of Sandor Clegane hearing all those rumours since he was a little boy. It’s so wrong she wants to cry for him.

“Still,” she says in a calmer voice. “Return to our room.  _ Please _ .”

“Is little bird this eager to follow the next order of her beloved King?” Sandor Clegane laughs. Sansa thinks it’s really brave and really stupid of him to speak about Joffrey in such way just after his punishment.

“Which order?” she asks instead.

“He wants to see you swelling with a child,” her husband spits through clenched teeth. “Said he wants to see an inbred a dog and a wolf can make, do you understand?”

Sansa doesn’t want to think of her future child as of  _ an inbred _ . She wants her child to be a pretty little girl, or a handsome little boy. Gentle like her and strong like Sandor Clegane. She is sure her child will be the most beautiful babe in the whole Westeros.

“Our child won’t be an  _ inbred _ ,” she voices her thoughts loudly.

“With a father like me he will be someone  _ worse _ ,” Sandor Clegane says and Sansa wants to punch him. She knows he is so wrong.

It doesn’t mean she wants to have a child with Sandor Clegane, but she doesn’t have a choice. She is a married woman now, she needs to obey her husband. She hopes that now, when there’s no more pain between her legs, it will be more bearable.

She wants him to come back to their room.

  
  


***

  
  


He does, and he takes her again this night. She is on her knees again, but she was right, after all. She feels a little bit uncomfortable when he enters her, but there’s no pain.

Sandor Clegane moves slowly, and at some point, he leans down and Sansa feels his huge palms running over her sides. It’s not a bad feeling, and when his hands cup her breasts, the feeling becomes even better.

His movements are clumsy, as if he isn’t sure what he is doing with his hands. Her circles her nipples with his calloused fingers and Sansa feels an urgent need to mewl. She has no idea where this need comes from, there’s no way she could enjoy it. Luckily, she has a pillow in front of her, and her little mewl goes unnoticed.

She knows they are doing it only because of Joffrey’s wicked mind. He never told her about her becoming heavy with a child, but he said so to her husband. Sansa wonders if he tried to threat Sandor Clegane the same way he did with her. He probably did, Sansa is sure. It was so easy to picture Joffrey’s sly smirk when he commanded her husband to put a child in her.

Sansa doesn’t want to think of Joffrey now. She tries to focus on something else instead, but her mind doesn’t want to cooperate. Sandor Clegane’s movements become more erratic, and Sansa realises she doesn’t feel an unwelcome discomfort anymore.

Instead, she feels  _ something _ . It’s a very queer feeling, it reminds her of the need she felt when Sandor Clegane touched her stiff nipples. She feels  _ something _ , but she can’t understand what is going on. It is a very nice feeling, though. But before she could find out more about it, she hears her husband's growl. He spills his seed inside her woman’s place once again, and Sansa closes her eyes.

“Don’t go,” she says in a quiet voice. She doesn’t want him to sleep in the kennel once again. She isn’t sure if she will like sharing the bed with her husband, but at least she won’t spend another night on her own.

She lies on her stomach and doesn’t move. She wants to peek at her husband, but she feels too ashamed. She hears him mumble something, and then he lies down next to her. He even covers her with warm furs. Sansa thinks she doesn’t mind it.

She doesn’t try to focus on the fact that the words Sandor Clegane mumbled some moments ago sounded like an apology.


	4. It feels like she is trying to tam a wild wolf, or a dog, and Sansa almost laughs at this comparison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running a little bit behind, so the next chapter will be a _huge_ one :')

Joffrey calls her for a private audience as soon as he comes back from his hunt. She is escorted to his rooms by Ser Kettleblack. He isn’t a talkative man, and Sansa is really grateful for it. At least she doesn’t need to hear another portion of sneers and japes.

But then she is in Joffrey’s rooms and Ser Kettleblack is gone. Sansa hopes Joffrey is in a good mood and his hunt was successful.

Joffrey wears his hunting clothes and is busy cleaning his crossbow.

“Lady Clegane,” his wormy lips are stretched in a grin. Sansa makes a curtsey and lowers her eyes, pretending she is very honoured by the attention from her King.

She hears Joffrey’s loud snort. It is followed by the sound of his steps in her direction, but Sansa keeps looking down. Joffrey stops in front of her and then she feels his cold fingers on her chin.

“I’ve heard some happy news,” there’s a sheer mockery in his tone. “That you are now a  _ real  _ Clegane.”

“I am, Your Grace,” she forces herself to say. Her eyes are locked with Joffrey’s and Sansa wants to look away so much. But she doesn’t, she keeps staring right in the ice in King’s eyes.

“Very well,” Joffrey clicks his tongue and finally releases her chin. Sansa straightens her back and makes a small step back. She wants to be as far from him as possible, but she can’t do something that might enrage him.

Joffrey turns around on his heels and goes back to his abandoned crossbow. It looks like he had lost his interest in his conversation with her, but Sansa knows better. She stands on the same place and waits for the next Joffrey’s command.

“I think I should reward you for being so obedient,” Joffrey finally says, lovingly caressing his weapon. “So I allow you to visit the Royal court from time to time. You know, to meet your friends, share the latest gossips, and everything else. How do you like this idea, lady Clegane?”

He mocks her again. Joffrey knows very well that Sansa doesn’t have anyone in the Red Keep whom she can call a  _ friend _ . The only person who was somehow kind to her was her husband, Sansa realises once again. The ladies of the court were tolerating her only because she was Joffrey’s betrothed. Sansa is sure they’re gossiping about her recent marriage when they come together to have a cup of tea or go for a stroll.

“It’s a wonderful idea, Your Grace,” she says, hiding her real thoughts in the deepest place of her mind. “I never thought I will be able to have a glimpse of my old life again.”

“Consider it as a belated wedding gift,” Joffrey laughs. “You can go now. And don’t forget, I can’t wait to welcome a new addition to your canine household.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa says in the most obedient tone possible.

“Good,” Joffrey nods and looks at his crossbow. “I know you won’t disappoint me, lady Sansa Clegane. After all, you know better than anyone else in this place what happens to the traitors.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa repeats, her voice just a little bit louder than a whisper. 

“By the way”, Joffrey suddenly says when she is about to turn the doorknob and walk out. “You shouldn’t worry about sending a note to your beloved family of traitors about your sudden marriage. I made sure they are aware of it already.”

Sansa wants to run away, but she simply thanks Joffrey and walks out. There is no way he could see her weakness and fear.

  
  


***

  
  


Her husband falls asleep straight after they are done with their marital duty. Sansa heard from the ladies in the Keep before that it’s quite a common thing among men, but she never believed them. But her husband falls asleep straight away, so the ladies were right.

Alright, maybe Sansa exaggerates a little bit. At least Sandor Clegane manages to clean them both and cover her with soft furs. And  _ then  _ he falls asleep on his side of their bed, his broad back facing Sansa.

They always do it in total darkness. Sansa lies on her side of the bed and her mind is full of pesky questions. Is Sandor Clegane doing so to spare her from seeing his face? It doesn’t make any sense, she is always on her knees and elbows when he takes her. Maybe he thinks she is too shy to do so in a candlelight? Maybe. Maybe it is  _ him _ who is shy. Sansa almost giggles at this though.

Then she carefully puts warm furs away and climbs down their bed. She doesn’t know why she is doing so, but she wants to take a proper look at her husband in his sleep. She slowly walks in the direction of the wooden chest of drawers, hoping that Sandor Clegane won’t wake up. She feels a wetness from his seed between her legs every time she makes a careful step and flinches. It is so disgusting, but somehow the knowledge of it and the wet feeling itself send warm waves in the lower part of her belly. It’s almost like when she feels the echoes of that queer feeling when her husband’s manhood is moving inside her.

Sansa bits her lip and shakes her head. She doesn’t need these strange thoughts in her head right now.

She lits up the candle and in the same slow way walks back to the bed. Sandor Clegane is sleeping, he doesn’t react to the dim light in their small room. Sansa sits down next to him and takes a proper look at his back.

She swallows a lump in her throat, but doesn’t look away. Sandor Clegane’s shoulders and back are covered in bruises and wounds. Some of them are old enough to not bother him at all. Some of them look fresh, the biggest one under his right shoulder blade is oozing with blood and some other wetness. There also are various huge bruises on his arms and neck, they look quite fresh too. But they are small, and they didn’t come from the time Sandor Clegane spent in a black cell.

Sansa is sure that those long oozing woods are the result of a torture the wise King Joffrey came up with for his traitorous dog.

She stands on her knees and lifts the candle. Now she can see Sandor Clegane’s hands and a little bit of his very hairy chest. His hands are bruised too, as if he is fighting someone constantly. Sansa remembers seeing them during their wedding ceremony, but she then she thought it was something temporary. Something he carried from the time he was imprisoned.

But cuts and scratches and bruises are fresh and they cover Sandor Clegane hands. And his neck. Sansa notices some of them even on his chest. She looks higher and sees his face. There is a frown between his eyebrows, as if her husband is seeing a dream full of concern. He is lying on his left side, so Sansa is facing the good side of his face. There are some small cuts on his cheek too, as well as a little bruise near his eye.

Sandor Clegane looks very tired. He has all these marks and a deep frown, and there’s a mass of burnt scars on the other side of his face, but he doesn’t look ugly. Just tired. Sansa has no idea how long she sits there simply watching her husband in a dim candlelight. She can’t take her eyes off of the tiny marks on his body.

She knows where he got them from. Sansa is luckier than her husband. She can simply ignore all the gossips and stares and pretend that nothing special happens in her life. And Sandor Clegane is a man, and Sansa is aware that the things between men happen quite differently. She never thought of him being a person who could fight someone over mere insults, but she was wrong.

Or maybe, he fights the unknown men to protect her  _ honour _ . That what a gallant knight would do, but Sandor Clegane isn’t a knight. Sansa shakes her head and wants to forget the stupid thought. But something inside her head wants it to be true. What a stupid girl she is.

It is only when she starts yawning when she climbs out of the bed again and dips her small candle. She returns and falls asleep instantly.

  
  


***

  
  


It isn’t a wise thing to do, but Sansa wants to help her husband. Maybe there’s no tenderness between them, nor mutual liking, but she wants to help him anyway. After all, they’re married in the eyes of Seven, and Sansa wants to be a good wife even for a man like him.

There is no mutual liking between them, but at least Sandor Clegane isn’t a cruel husband. Sansa heard a lot about all the pain a woman can suffer with her husband. And Sandor Clegane always tries to be gentle with her, even if they interact only in their marriage bed. He was gentle with her  _ before _ , too. Sansa has no idea if her husband remembers all those moments he helped her not to lose her mind being Joffrey’s betrothed.

It doesn’t matter. Even if he forgot about them, Sansa still remembers. She can’t say exactly why he was helping her, but she decides to keep those memories with her until the end of her days.

She uses Joffrey’s generous offer to visit the Royal court and goes straight to the maester who is mainly dealing with the needs of the servants across the Keep. He isn’t Sansa’s  _ gossiping friend _ , but she needs to meet him as soon as she can.

“Lady Clegane,” the man greets her. Sansa feels his ogling stare and tries to stay calm. She bows her head and takes a deep breath.

She wants to deal with it as quickly as possible, there’s no way she would stay in the maester’s chamber longer than needed. She clears her throat and asks him for some ointments which could help her deal with bruises and cuts.

“And what for young lady needs them?” the man asks, walking in the direction of a huge shelf.

Sansa holds her breath.

“I need it due to my… Due to the issues in my marriage bed,” she blurts out and lowers her gaze. Her cheeks are red, but not in shame. She simply is a terrible liar.

She can’t tell the maester that those ointments will be used to help her husband. Sansa doesn’t know if she can trust this man, after all, he’s an apprentice of Pycelle. And everything Grand maester knows goes directly to Joffrey. And Sansa is sure that Joffrey wants to see his former dog in pain. She is sure about everything that happens in Joffrey’s head when it is about the destiny of someone he considers a traitor.

There’s a nasty grin on the thin lips of a man in front of her, and Sansa shifts her weight from one foot to another.

“Please,” she says and bows her head once again.

When she walks out of maester’s chamber with a couple of tiny bottles, Sansa feels as if she won a small war.

  
  


***

  
  


She spends the rest of the day in her and Sandor Clegane’s room. She mops the floor and puts aside some dirty clothes and sheets to be washed. She even brings some food with her and has her dinner inside the room. There’s enough food left for her husband if he will come back hungry, too.

Sandor Clegane doesn’t come back hungry. He slams the door after him and bars it.

“What in the seven hells are you up to?” he barks at her, keeping a decent distance between them. It’s the first time in a while he raises voice at her, and Sansa tries to stay as calm as it is possible.

She has no idea why, but she wants to cry instead. She feels hurt by his tone and words, and Sansa doesn’t know why does this feeling even exists in her head.

“What are you talking about?” she cuts herself before adding a usual address. She managed to spend a couple of days without using any titles while talking to Sandor Clegane, and she doesn’t want all her efforts to disappear for nothing.

“I think the whole court now knows about what you are enduring while being bedded by me,” her husband hisses and Sansa gasps.

And there she is, with her dull hopes that at least a regular maester won’t share the details about her visit to someone else.

“This is not what I meant…” she starts, but her words are cut by a loud barking laugh.

“I have no clue what did you  _ mean _ , girl,” he spits. “But trust me, even Joff had come to praise me for decently dealing with you for a wolf bitch you are. Is this what you wanted when you were telling the gossiping ladies your lies about me being rough with you? Or what?”

Sansa raises her head and looks him in the eyes. She wants to explain to him that she never met any of those ladies, that she came up with a story about her inexistent pain simply to help  _ him _ , but she isn’t able to say a word.

She looks him in the eyes and sees a foreign emotion in it, the one she never thought to meet in the always angry stare of Sandor Clegane. She sees that he is  _ hurt _ , and this realisation makes her gasp once again.

Sansa can hear her loud heartbeat in her temples. She stands up and slowly walks in her husband’s direction.

“This is not what I meant,” she says again, but this time her voice is calmer and free of offence. “I’ve never spread any rumours about you, nor I spent time with the ladies of the court.”

“Then why does the whole court, including Joffrey, gossip about you bruising and bleeding after each time I take you like a bitch?” Sandor Clegane crosses his hands on his chest. The unusual emotion is still present in his eyes, and by some unknown reason Sansa wishes it could disappear in a blink of an eye.

“I went to one of the Keep’s maesters today,” she starts to explain herself. “Asked him for some ointments to cure bruises and wounds.”

“Why do you need them anyway?” Sandor Clegane raises his good eyebrow.

“I don’t need them,” Sansa shakes her head. “But you do.”

She sees his eyes widening in a single moment. If not the whole situation they were in, Sansa thinks she would laugh at the dumbstruck emotion on her husband’s face.

“I do?” he says with a funny expression in his voice. 

Sansa nods, pointing at the small bottles she left on the top of the chest of drawers.

“I was worried about the bruises and wounds on your hands…” she starts, but her husband cuts her off with another strange sound.

“You were worried?” he says. Sansa hears that he tries to sound confident and mock her with his tone, but it doesn’t work. His voice is still full of the emotions she never heard in it before. Emotions like disbelief and panic and pain. And hope.

She nods again and smiles. It’s a weak smile, but at least she is sincere with him.

“I wasn’t sure what Joffrey… What _His Grace_ is up to,” she explains, waving her hand. “I thought it would be better to not mention your wounds. To not drag too much attention to you.”

Sandor Clegane is quiet. He stands on the same spot and looks at her, as if he forgot how to blink. His stare is so intense Sansa is afraid it could burn her to ashes. But she looks back and never stops smiling. It feels like she is trying to tam a wild wolf, or a dog, and Sansa almost laughs at this comparison.

“Fine,” her husband mumbles in the end, averting his gaze. He turns back, moving in the direction of the corner where they have washing supplies. He needs to wash the dirt and dust before any ointment could be applied anyway, so Sansa gives him time and space to do so.

“I will be back,” she says loudly and walks out of their bedroom. She hopes he will eat his dinner as well.

There’s nothing to do for her, so she walks to the Godswood. Sansa doesn’t visit it too often now, and she hopes the Old Gods aren’t disappointed in her. She isn’t sure if it is a wise thing to do, to go there in the dark of the night without any decent guard. She isn’t King’s betrothed anymore, it isn’t safe for her to walk on her own at this time of the day. Sandor Clegane would call her stupid bird, if he knew what she was up to.

She goes to the Godswood anyway and prays there. She prays to the Gods to help Robb and take care of their mother, even if she doesn’t believe in them. She prays for her missing sister and her lost brothers. She prays for all the good people she knows.

She prays for her husband too. Sansa knows he doesn’t trust any God, but she prays for him nevertheless. Just like she prayed during the battle. She thinks that the Mother had heard her pray, so she asks the Old Gods to help her husband too.

When she comes back to their room, Sandor Clegane sits on the edge of their bed. He is wearing just his smallclothes and Sansa averts her gaze straight away. Surprisingly enough, she isn’t repulsed by the lack of clothes on him, but something makes her to look away.

She notices that one of the bottles is almost empty and smiles.

“I hope it will help you,” she says quietly and Sandor Clegane grunts something under his breath. 

Sansa notices that he ate his dinner and put all dirty plates aside in a neat pile.

“Do you need any help with the wounds on your back?” she asks her husband and he frowns.

“Why would I need it?” he grumbles, but Sansa sees there is a relief in his stare. Looks like he wasn’t able to attend to his wounds by himself, and Sansa isn’t surprised that his pride didn’t allow him to ask his wife for help.

She climbs on the bed and stands on her knees. Sandor Clegane hands her an opened bottle and sits still. The liquid is cold and Sansa shivers. She warms it up a little bit with her palms and puts her hands on her husband’s back. He flinches at the touch and Sansa wonders if it is because of the pain he feels. It also could be because he is disgusted by her touch, but she doesn’t want to imagine such a possibility.

  
She rubs the ointment all over his healed and open wounds, gently massaging it into his skin. At some point, she feels her husband relax under her touch and Sansa smiles to herself. He isn’t _disgusted_ , after all.

She moves a little bit forward, applying the ointment on his shoulders too. There are some scratches and bruises too, Sansa has no idea where he got them from. But she massages them anyway. As well as his neck.

When she is done, she hums in approval and takes her hands off her husband’s body.

“It is ready,” she says, but Sandor Clegane doesn’t move. He doesn’t say a word too, so Sansa climbs down the bed and walks away to wash herself. After all, they are not done yet with all their duties for tonight.

She puts on her nightshift and comes returns to their bed. Her husband sits there in the same pose, his face expressionless. She notices that his body is tense once again.

She also notices a huge bulge in his smallclothes and blushes. Sansa knows it is a sign he is aroused and wonders if it happened because of her touches. She never had a chance to touch him when he was taking her, but his hands were able to send some strangely pleasant shivers down her spine. Especially when he was touching her nipples.

Sansa dips the candle and returns to the bed. She gets on her knees as always, but this time she decides not to close her eyes.

“I’m ready,” she says in a small voice. Sandor Clegane flinches, as if her voice was able to drag him out of his deep thoughts. Sansa turns her head and sees that he is looking at her. She blushes again and hopes he isn’t able to notice it in the darkness of their room.

“Go to sleep,” her husband rasps. “We won’t do anything tonight.”

Sansa knows he  _ is _ aroused. He  _ wants  _ her, and she opens her mouth to express her objection. But Sandor Clegane touches her shoulder and covers her with cosy furs.

“You need to have some rest,” he says and his voice is strangely quiet. He makes sure she is lying on her stomach and only then he lies next to her.

Sansa takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She knows he will turn on his side and fall asleep, as always. She wonders how he will manage to sleep with his manhood aroused.

“Thank you,” Sandor Clegane whispers so quietly Sansa wonders if her mind made up those words before dragging her into a deep and calm sleep.


End file.
